


you're the best i've ever seen

by seshgremlins



Series: scrúdpháipéar den shaol [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Ireland, Irish Language Use, Irish secondary school, M/M, Sesh Gremlins, The Sesh, and makki is like an angel of memes, featuring antagonist yaku and supporting character akaashi, half of them are immigrant kids, mattsun is just a poor polish boy weak for makki, they deserve each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seshgremlins/pseuds/seshgremlins
Summary: “J’aime beaucoup faire de la sesh. Tous les week-ends, je vais au Wrights à Swords pour faire de la sesh. Mes amis disent que je suis,” Makki pauses, Issei looks up, and the raised eyebrow, dramatic wink and the sharp smirk are enough to give him a heart attack, “un vrai diablotin de la sesh.”The Irish schooling system is failing Mattsun, and so are his friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Americans know the Brits and the Aussies based on stereotypes, so I guess it's time to bring Irish sesh culture to the light. 
> 
> Mattsun is Polish, Makki is half French, and however many languages you speak, miscommunication is still a mess.
> 
> A reference of all Irish slang, education jargon, and Polish, French and Irish phrases can be found [here. ](http://seshgremlins.tumblr.com/post/151568374073/referencesdictionary-for-youre-the-best-ive)
> 
> Title from E.V.O.L. by Marina and the Diamonds (song doesn't really apply but the lyric itself does).

Matsukawa Issei has a handful of notable characteristics and personality traits. He’s the tallest boy in the school, at the young age of seventeen, with dark hair, brown eyes and thick bushy eyebrows. He has a lean, bony frame, and his jumper hangs off of him, too short but too loose, with sleeves well past his wrists. The school trousers are too short for him too, even though they’re loose on his sharp hipbones. He’s in general a cheerful person. The underlying bitterness and susceptibility to stress is common among Polish youth. He’s acing DCG, passing Construction and Engineering, and doing tolerably in English and Irish. He’s good enough at French to the point where he’s done the work that the teacher left for this free class. However, the Polish homework in front of him, and the three reasons for its current incomplete status, bring only one word to his mind: _Kurwa_.

 

“Ten euro he’s not a French teacher,” Oikawa Tooru, reason number one, dramatic attention whore, whispers loudly over the textbook propped up on the table. He’s a suicidal workaholic and Issei hates him. He’s actually one of those people who goes home and does his homework first thing. Issei is simultaneously in awe and disgusted.

 

“Fifteen he’s your one who crashed the login system by accident,” Iwaizumi Hajime, reason number two, the upright fuck who isn’t letting Issei “go home sick” on purpose, adds indifferently without looking up from his phone.

 

“Twenty he actually used LinkedIn to get this job,” states Hanamaki Takahiro, reason number three, _the most perfect, beautiful, ginger, half-French angel to ever exist in this cruel world to distract Mattsun from anything that could be vaguely considered productive._ Issei and Makki have been best friends since childhood. They’ve skipped classes, skipped exams, skipped Transition Year together. Issei’s heart skips a beat every time Makki smiles. He’s the Michael Collins to Issei’s Éamon de Valera, the Antonio to his Bassanio, the _Léigh anois go cúramach_ to his _scrúidpháipéar._ In short, Issei is at the same time jealous and in love and they are joined at the hip.

 

On days like these, Mattsun wishes he’d listened to his mother’s advice and taken German.

 

The betting pool is halted by the unfortunate subject of the wagers, the substitute teacher. “Your teacher didn’t leave any work, so just do some oral French practice.”

 

Matsukawa takes out his folder immediately and sets out on his analysis of Syzyfowe Prace. The class settles into idle chatter, most of which is predictably not French oral practice. Mattsun thinks that maybe, just maybe fortune is making up to him all his recent misfortunes, that something in life will go his way. Then, Oikawa Tooru decides to speak, a damning gesture for all Mattsun’s hopes and dreams of ever passing Higher Level Polish.

 

“ _Décrivez-moi, qu’est-ce que vous faites les week-ends?_ Hajime?”

 

“ _Je joue du hurling. Je suis le capitaine de l’équipe et nous sommes dans la première division du Leinster-_ ”

 

 _“_ Alright, alright, stop showing off. Makki?”

 

“ _J’aime beaucoup faire de la sesh. Tous les week-ends, je vais au Wrights à Swords pour faire de la sesh. Mes amis disent que je suis,_ ” Makki pauses, Issei looks up, and the raised eyebrow, dramatic wink and the sharp smirk are enough to give him a heart attack, “ _un vrai diablotin de la sesh._ ”

 

“Shut it, Makki, we all know you’d shift any meme without hesitation. Mattsun?”

 

Issei is fully aware that an answer is expected. However, all he can see is the grin on Makki’s face, and all he can think of is kurwa kurwa kurwa praca domowa and the question is out of his mind. He’s beyond all rational thinking, and his brain is turning into runny custard. Qu’est-ce que tu aimes seems to be the question. Before Mattsun realises that he’s fucking up, throwing himself into the wolfpit, ruining his life all by himself, it slips out.

 

“ _Mon copain, Hanamaki_.”

 

Oikawa goes completely silent first. The silence radiates through the class. Even loud-ass Yaku has shut up and momentarily stopped denying his huge crush on Haiba from fifth year. Mattsun desperately tries to recall exactly what he said wrong. His arm is dropping and leaving a long crooked line through his essay. Makki across from him is red to the tips of his ears, as red as his hair, as red as the coloured posters, as red as Issei himself at that moment.

 

“Pay the fuck up, Hajime! I fucking _said_ Mattsun would admit it first!”

 

“Jesus Christ, Makki, why do you have no balls, I just lost sixty euro to Tooru, what the hell?”

 

Issei feels the stares of his classmates boring into the back of his head. He can even hear the faint whispers of “I thought they were already dating, why is them fucking every weekend such a big deal” from Yaku across the room. ( _Suck a dick, Yaku, you’re not fooling anyone with your and Haiba’s arguing_.)

 

To his great relief, the substitute teacher wants to attempt to impose his authority. He’s never going to achieve the single-word silencing commands of their usual French teacher, but he does what could be considered his best, and a pretty impressive best for a new teacher. “The table down the back, settle down lads. Issei, up beside Keiji. Tooru, swap with Morisuke. Hajime, front row. If I hear a sound out of any of you that isn’t in French, you’re all being sent to the vice-principal’s office. Understood?”

 

After a satisfactory gesture from each of the boys, the teacher returns to whatever he was doing on the two inch thick 2004-esque laptop. Mattsun breathes a sigh of relief at sitting with his back to Makki near the door. It’s somewhat surreal how calm he feels; he’s apparently just confessed to being in love with his best friend, completely by accident, and isn’t too concerned at the moment. What is worrying is what will happen at the end of class. Issei can already imagine it: Tooru laughing. Makki saying he’s never going to talk to him anymore. And, let’s face it, if Makki’s pissed then Hajime will probably beat him into the dirt later. Issei will probably be dead, and he may as well not do the homework, because he’s going to be hospitalised later, and oh dear God, Mary, and Patrick-

 

“Are you okay, Issei?” Akaashi Keiji puts a hand on his slumped shoulders, surprising Mattsun. The gesture is unexpected but soothing. “I don’t know what happened, and it’s not my place to butt in, but maybe you should do your homework before you panic like this.”

 

Issei realises that Akaashi is right, and starts breathing again. Maybe, if he explains, Hajime will only break his nose instead of beating him to shreds. Amd it’s not like Hajime can do that on school grounds. And it’s not like he can defend himself after school if his Polish teacher kills him first. He gives Keiji a shaky smile and actually sets out to write.

 

The Polish assignment goes well, seeing as it is, after all, on matters of the heart and foreign languages. Akaashi is silent through the process, and Issei is more grateful than he can express. The bell is a welcome sound as Mattsun stuffs his equipment into his schoolbag. He rushes out the door, down the corridor and up the stairs to the first year area. The twelve and thirteen year olds scatter like bowling pins at the sight of the hulking sixth year. The sight helps Issei keep at least some of his dignity. He slides down the wall of the boys’ bathroom and covers his eyes, starting to hyperventilate again, because he needs somewhere to hide from his friends for the 55-minute duration of lunch. Jesus fuck they’re going to find him before then and he’ll be dead. His phone vibrates, and he can already tell that the group chat titled SESHGREMLINS is not shutting up until Issei suffers for his crimes.

 

 

> **[BARA-nacle boy] 13:11**
> 
> ISSEI WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU
> 
>  
> 
> **[merm-ALIEN man] 13:11**
> 
> Makki’s still all red lmao he’s adorable you should see it issei
> 
>  
> 
> **[greimlín an tseish] 13:11**
> 
> issei get the fuck back here what are you doing
> 
> get back to our area you absolute madman
> 
> hajime is going looking for you u know
> 
>  
> 
> **[merm-ALIEN man] 13:12**
> 
> Hajime’s gonna drag you back come out come out wherever you are

 

Issei is panicking. He's considering walking out of school and taking the 109 out of town, or the 109A to confuse them. He is most definitely not OK with what is happening. He’s even less OK with Hajime barging in and interrupting his mental breakdown. At least it isn’t quite Mattsun’s apocalyptic scenario of Tooru, or worse, Makki, finding him and laughing at him.

 

Issei can almost hear the “what happens next will shock you” that describes Hajime’s next actions. The bulky hurler sits down beside Issei, smiles, _actually fucking smiles_ , and asks Issei if he’s OK.

 

Now, Mattsun has been through many ordeals in life. He’s failed Higher Level Maths, lost countless debates, and gotten his sister into Temple Street by dropping an iron on her foot. He really shouldn’t be quite as distressed now as he is, but he still finds himself spilling his emotions onto Iwaizumi as he once spilled water onto the computer with his DCG project on it.

 

“Do I look OK to you, Hajime?” falls out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “I just fucked up the most important friendship I have, everybody saw it, and I can already imagine Tooru typing it up on Facebook with his pretentious-ass manicure, and Makki hates me, and you’re here to beat me up, and I’m going to end up in Temple, and I’ll fail Polish, and-” Issei pauses for breath, with tears running down his face. He is even less OK than he was before. Hajime is clearly dissatisfied with this. His dissatisfaction is almost on the level of the disappointment of Issei’s Maths teacher’s face after he failed the Junior Cert.

 

“Listen here, you poxy cunt,” Hajime starts off with a real banger, in true Irish fashion, “where the fuck did you get that from. I’m not here to beat your ass, if I did that not even Temple Street would fix you up, so stop being all jittery. Tooru isn’t putting this up on Facebook, because he actually fucking cares about you. If anyone’s getting beat up, it’s his sorry ass.” He pauses, puts an arm around Issei’s shaking shoulders, and his voice softens. “Makki doesn’t hate you. He’s not even angry. The poor fucker is crying because he thinks you regret saying what you did and that you don’t want him. Tooru is out there with him behind the Woodwork room, comforting the damn pissbaby.”

 

“The fuck am I meant to do then?”

 

“Whatever you think is right. If you want something less sappy and more concrete, my advice to you is that you go out there and shift him into oblivion.” Hajime’s advice is eloquent as ever, as if he’d ever actually shifted someone he cared about who wasn’t a stranger from Wrights. “Seriously, though, he wants to see you. Get the fuck out there, Mattsun.”

 

Issei seriously considers this for a moment. Either Hajime’s being honest, which is about 70% likely, and he’s gonna go out there and be all right, or Hajime’s joking, which is only about 5% possible, considering that if he’s cruel it’s always direct, or there’s pretty high odds that Tooru is feeding Hajime false information, which is exactly something you’d expect of that alien fucker. The risks are identifiable, and the odds are still in his favour, but Mattsun still doesn’t know what to do.

 

“Harambe didn’t die for you to fuck up your life like this, Mattsun.”

 

Issei really wishes he had taken German, but he’s gotten himself into this mess, and _raz kozie śmierć_. He picks himself up off the ground and strides out the door of the bathroom, running down the stairway and out the fire door.

* * *

 

Makki is outside, sitting on the Woodwork room’s windowsill, looking like some fucking Renaissance painting, Issei couldn’t tell you which one, he doesn’t even care, because who would be that cruel to make an angel cry. He realises he’s the one who brought Makki to this, and _shit, Makki really deserves better, and Issei isn’t good enough_ , but then he’s tackled by the hurricane of red face and ginger hair, and Takahiro is pressing his face into his shoulder and shaking.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Issei chokes out through his own sobs. “I’m here.” He sees Tooru skulking away, running off towards the Community Centre, and pulls Makki closer.

 

“Y’fuckin asshole,” Makki bawls through Issei’s jumper, and Mattsun pulls back a bit to look down at the boy. “Y’fucking dickhead. Why would you run away, why would you do this to me-” his voice falters as Issei pulls up his chin. His eyes are brimming with tears, and Issei knows the guilt will haunt him for the rest of his life.

 

“Takahiro,” Issei starts, his breath hitching, “I’m really sorry. I’m really sorry for blurting that out in that situation, that- that I left you there and didn’t want to talk to you, I’m really sorry, and I fucked up, and I hope you forgive me, because I can’t imagine not being friends with you, and you’re just so important and beautiful and perfect and-” Issei’s heart jumps to his throat because _Takahiro is pulling him down by his tie and pressing his lips to Issei’s_. Makki’s lips are soft, and his breath is warm on Mattsun’s face, and he’s standing on his toes and leaning against Issei, and in that moment there is no better feeling that Mattsun could experience.

 

“You piece of shit,” Makki breathes in a rasping, rough voice, and kisses Mattsun again, “you’re not pulling this stunt ever again,” another more desperate kiss, tugging on Issei’s lower lip, “because I’m never letting you go, you messed up motherfucker.” He finally stands down, and Mattsun’s head is spinning.

 

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Issei stumbles out through a cheek-splitting grin.

 

“Of course. Did you even think I’d be angry at you? I was pissed because you ran away, you cowardly fuck. I was wondering when you’d get your shit together and ask me on a date.”

 

“Well then,” Issei is smiling so wide he can’t feel his face, he’s living the happiest moment of his life, “since the drama is over, and we still have,” he glances at his watch for a fraction of a second, he doesn’t want to tear his eyes away from Takahiro, “thirty minutes left until class, what do you say we head on down to Supervalu for a classy dinner of Doritos and Mountain Dew?”

 

“If the drama is really over, how come you’re being so fancy and shit?”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about the drama. It’s all ogre now.”

 

Takahiro laughs, and Issei feels as if he wants to treasure the sound forever, and then Makki is pressed up against him again, with his arms around his shoulders and his lips on Mattsun’s. They laugh together, and breathe the same air, and time stops for them, because thirty minutes is never going to be enough.

* * *

 

Issei is late to Polish, and his homework suddenly seems to be written in too depressing a light, even if it is a piece he produced literally an hour and a half ago. He really doesn’t care at this point. His boyfriend is waiting outside the class for him, and taking French was the right choice, and not thinking about his French answers was definitely the right accident.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing Tumblr is empty so far but you can find it [here. ](http://seshgremlins.tumblr.com/)


End file.
